They Called Me The Piper
by Minuit Mystique
Summary: Rispah gets a mysterious and seductive late night visitor. But are his attentions entirely unwelcome? Written for the Peculiar Parings Ficathon on Goldenlake @ fiefgoldenlake dot proboards dot com. Please Review.


**A/N:** This was written for the Peculiar Parings Ficathon on **Goldenlake**, at **fiefgoldenlake[dot]proboards[dot]com**. Head on over to read more.

-----

**They called me the Piper**

A chill wind kissed the back of Rispah's neck. She glared at the windows as she shivered. A different sort of chill ran through her as she saw that the shutters were closed tight. He was here again.

She put down her quill and squeezed her eyes shut. No. This can't be happening. Every other night, since the last full moon, he had come. He always came at the exact same time. If she glanced out the window, she'd see the moon, fat and round, at the highest point in the Corus sky. A cold finger caressed her cheek. She could feel his smile on the back of her neck.

The first night he came, she'd made a right fool of herself. She'd stood up, kicking over her chair, and stalked around the room with her dagger in her hand; until George came in from the tavern at the Dancing Dove to see her looking crazed and slashing at shadows. She'd searched and searched, but had found nothing. No trace that he'd ever really been here. At first she considered getting George to search with his Sight, but after what happened later that first night, she was too embarrassed. She was afraid he'd dismiss it as a sign that she was missing Coram too much. Besides, George had enough of his own problems to deal with right now.

Or, perhaps a secret part of her didn't want him to stop coming. That ghostly hand, those talented unseen lips, and more, had done things to her that no ordinary man had come close to. Her body shivered in delight at the memory; making itself ready for what it knew was to come. Guilt immediately slammed into her. _What about Coram_, a little voice whispered in her head. _He wouldn't like this. He's up in the Roof of the World, suffering, and you're betraying him_.

That little voice had been a lot louder in the beginning. She'd tried to resist those talented hands and wicked lips. But how do you resist something that you cannot even see or touch? She'd told herself back then that she'd grit her teeth and bear it. She would not give in to this unseen attack. But he was patient. He was talented. If he were really a ghost, he certainly would have had enough time to practice. Slowly, hour by hour, night by night, he wore down her resistance. Her traitorous body could not help but respond to something for which clothing didn't seem to be a barrier.

Currently, those ghostly hands were curved around her waist, while lips nibbled their way along her hairline. She couldn't help but lean her head into the caress and sigh with longing. In her mind, Coram's face appeared behind those lips. He had been gone so long, and she did miss him terribly. She told herself it wouldn't matter if she let herself go, and pretend it was Coram. She obviously couldn't get rid of the presence, so she told herself she was simply finding a practical solution to the problem. Perhaps it really was Coram, maybe Alanna had found some spell, to let him do this. She didn't know if this ghostly presence had a name. He never spoke; not even to whisper sweet nothings into her ear.

Or perhaps she was slowly going mad.

A hand moved from her waist and trailed itself slowly down her body, smoothing over her shoulders and down the front of her dress, where it lingered. She cursed herself, even as her body responded. Knowing it was inevitable, she gave in the pleasant glow that was spreading up her body. He never left until he left her body sated, so she was just trying end it sooner, she told herself. As if sensing this small surrender within her, the other hand at her waist moved to her thigh, and crept upwards, drawing out the warmth and chasing away the cold.

"Oh Coram," Rispah sighed breathlessly with pleasure.

He stopped. Ghostly fingers stilled and lips withdrew.

Rispah opened slightly glazed eyes and glanced around in confusion. "Coram?" She whispered softly. For a moment she had convinced herself that it really was Coram, and completely forgotten about the mysterious ghost-like presence.

A chilly breath tingled her ear, "No love, I am not Coram."

Rispah jumped. He spoke. For the first time, he spoke. Why now? She wondered. "You can speak? Why? How? Who are you?"

"Of course I can speak," he chuckled and twirled a strand of her hair.

Annoyed now, Rispah slapped the hand away, cursing herself when she hit air. "Why haven't you spoken before?" She demanded. She realised she was seemingly talking to thin air. Perhaps she really was going mad.

"I've been called many things love, but never a rough aged soldier."

He was vain, she realised. Tonight was the first time she'd spoken Coram's name aloud. "Of course you haven't been called that. It's my mistake. You're not half the man Coram is."

"Oh? The very same man who has left you here all alone, while he's off adventuring with that," he paused, and she could hear the smirk in his voice, "_Lady Knight_ of his. It's very cold on the Roof of the World you know. What do you suppose they're doing to keep warm?" He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her body, as if to show her exactly what he was suggesting.

Rispah whirled out of his grasp angrily. "It is his duty to protect Alanna, and what you are suggesting is ridiculous. Coram is a wonderful man, honourable and loyal."

"If he's so wonderful, then what have you been doing with me?" He challenged.

"Don't be stupid, I thought you were Coram."

He laughed. Rispah crossed her arms and seethed, itching to draw her dagger and teach him a lesson. "Don't lie to yourself love, never for a moment did you really believe it was Coram."

"Of course, Coram would never seduce someone else's woman." Rispah glared at where she thought he would be standing. "And I am not your love."

"Don't deny what's between us, love. I've watched you for so long, wanted you for so long. When you made that wish in the tavern last full moon, I couldn't resist any longer."

"Wish? What wish?" Rispah was afraid. He'd been watching her?

"When you were watching that gixie and cove together, thinking about how lonely you felt without Coram, and wished someone would hold you."

"I never said that. How would you know?" She demanded.

"This tavern is mine. I rule here, and I know everything that goes on inside it."

"Yours? George rules the Dancing Dove. He's the Rogue." Rispah scoffed.

"He is now." He answered.

"Whoever you think you are, why don't you just leave me be!" She growled, tired of arguing with thin air.

"Oh come now, you really don't mean that. You don't want to be alone." He caressed her cheek. "Haven't we been good together? Haven't you enjoyed yourself?"

"No." Rispah lied.

"Now do you see why I never spoke before this?" He sighed regretfully. "I knew that if I spoke to you, you wouldn't be able to pretend. That if you knew for certain it was not Coram, you would never accept what we did together." He kissed her forehead tenderly. "You're an honourable and loyal mot." His hands withdrew from her waist. She felt his chilly presence leave her side. "Goodbye, my love," he whispered, his voice growing fainter by the second. "I'll not come again, not unless you ask me to."

"Wait, who are you?" Rispah sounded desperate. The thought of not feeling him again left a surprising ache in her heart.

"They called me the Piper." She barely heard the whisper, as a soft chilling wind caressed her cheek for the last time.


End file.
